Shift Ctrl
by ReAwaken
Summary: Neal and Addie recount the story of how they met while they simultaneously try to keep their love life in tact. Not easy when both have conning tendencies and secrets. Can their past help their future? Or will it tear them furhter apart? NealxOC
1. It Started With a Lucky Con

**And another one! I'm on a roll. For those of you who have read my profile information, you'll know why. White Collar is easily my FAVORITE American TV show (yes, more so than Big Bang Theory although that is immensely entertaining). As we wait around for the fourth season I thought I would get in this little fanfic idea that involves my favorite con and my favorite conning technique (that you have to wait a couple of chapters for). So yeah, enjoy and your opinion is much appreciated!**

**~Rea**

**disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, I only own Adelaide Lochlann**

* * *

"I remember thinking to myself 'he's hit on all the other women here, why isn't he hitting on this one?'" Peter Burke said, causing the gathered group in his living room to burst out in laughter. Neal Caffrey's laughter, however, was more like a chuckle as he gave his FBI partner a blue-eyed, disapproving look. "What?" Peter asked, completely confused. Neal gave Adelaide Lochlann, or Addie, as she liked to be called, an apologetic look. She returned it with a bright, amused smile. Elizabeth Burke put a reassuring hand on Peter's knee.

"Honey, why don't you let Neal and Addie tell the story of how they met?" Elizabeth suggested, much to the relief of Neal. He gave Peter a triumphant smirk before turning to Addie. She smiled at him once again (it was really hard not to) and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"The first time Neal and I met, he was conning my father," Addie announced in a rather surprisingly upbeat way. Peter raised an eyebrow, looking to Neal for answers. Neal put his arms up.

"This was before you caught me," he said defensively. "And it was never proven," he threw in for good measure.

"I remember this," Mozzie said, bringing them back into the story. "It was at the Gramercy Park Hotel. The sun was just starting to fade below the horizon. It was a bit crisp that evening, and I needed my windbreaker instead of the flannel I'd been wearing all—"

"Moz," Neal cut in, giving his friend his quintessential 'shut up' face.

"Oh, my apologies," Mozzie said, "Continue Addie."

"Thank you, Mozzie. Anyway, my father was meeting a fence for a painting that he had 'just happened' to find in some sort of family vault or something," Addie's voice quickly changed from that of a dramatic storyteller, to one of disgust.

"Uh, it wasn't just any painting, it was a Monet. Specifically, it was his _Jardin a Sainte-Adresse_, one of his earlier works. And, as we all know, Neal—"

"Loves Monet," Peter finished, not hiding the skepticism in his voice. Neal looked flustered momentarily, but regained his composure and cleared his throat, telling Addie to go on.

"Thank you, Mozzie," she said again, the derision not escaping their small bald friend, "Like I was saying, it was a big occasion and my father was throwing a party, as was his style, so that he could do the deal under that guise. My mother, brothers and I were there and so was Neal Caffrey. Of course, at that point, he was going by the name…"

############################################

"Nicholas Holden," he said, eyes shining and looking as impressive as ever in his dark suit. Henry Lochlann regarded him with a tinge of jealous mistrust.

"And how is it that you know my father, Mr. Holden?" Henry fired back, civilly, of course, but the undercurrent of suspicion did not go unnoticed by Neal. He put on his most charming face. Which happened to also be his most arrogant one.

"Your dad and I go way back. We were best friends in college. Shooting the breeze and trying not to get caught with our expensive wines. Those were the days at Berkley," Neal told him, acting out a perfect dreamy smile. Henry narrowed his eyes but, nevertheless, accepted the knowledge that was given to him.

"Enjoy yourself, Mr. Holden," he told him before sauntering off to no doubt, interrogate some other hapless guest. Neal's smirk was illuminating as he casually lifted a champagne glass from a waiter passing by.

"I certainly will," he said to himself as he took a sip. His eyes went to work then, scanning the crowd in their expensive suits and short dresses. The music, played by nothing less than a live orchestra, was a simple jazz tune, nothing fancy but still enjoyable. Neal eyed the dancing couples, hopping one from the next. His target was nowhere in sight, so the Nick Holden of the evening moved leisurely through the crowd. His gait was purposeful, warding off the rather large gaggle of women that were desperately trying to meet his eye.

He stopped at one of the ornate pillars in the ballroom, not far from one of the many catering tables. There he was, the man of the hour. However, it wasn't the fact that Neal had found Colin Lochlann that was so pressing at the moment. It was the fact that someone else had found him.

Colin Lochlann was deep in conversation with a rather burly man done up in a twilight suit with a paisley tie, not in the best taste. Over to Mr. Lochlann's right was the most startling pair of hazel eyes Neal had ever seen. They belonged to a woman, modestly dressed and with no particular striking beauty to stand out with. Her long dark locks were pulled tightly back from her face and her high cheekbones and thin, pale lips held a look of what Neal could only describe as boredom. But her eyes—those dazzling hazel eyes held not suspicion, not allurement, but just plain old curiosity. Neal shook his head just the slightest, disengaging his eyes from hers. Instead, he focused back on the target.

The deal would go down in another room in the hotel, that much Neal knew. The problem then was which. His cerulean eyes flicked back to the girl. She was absorbed in the conversation that Mr. Lochlann and the other terribly dressed man were having and apparently was quite affected, if the blush that was the only coloring on her face said anything. Neal decided to take a chance, a risk. Because that was what this whole venture was, wasn't? What every con involved, a little sacrifice of safety. Which Neal did so often now that he hardly gave two ounces of insight into whether this plan would work or not.

He sidled up to the young lady nonchalantly enough, passing behind Lochlann, his ears ever attentive. He snatched up a particularly interesting fact as he drew closer to the woman. Damn, she was perceptive. Those haunting eyes turned on him as soon as he got close. He gave her his charming smile, teeth gleaming in the glow of the lights. The back of his mind winced.

She didn't seem impressed.

Neal didn't allow this to faze him, as he knew that if looks couldn't do it, his charismatic nature would have her eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Great party," he commented, a perfect, innocent remark that demanded feedback. The woman mutely nodded. Neal cocked an eyebrow. It didn't look he would have to worry about this going wrong; he would just have to worry about it not going anywhere. He changed tactics, deciding for a more direct approach. And, like so many of these debacles seemed to have, luck was on his side. He swiped two wine glasses from a passing tray (Neal noted that it was a rather attractive woman and was glad that his good looks had helped him out at some point in this evening). "So how does a lovely woman such as yourself know Colin Lochlann?" Neal asked, handing her one of the glasses. She accepted it, but did not drink. Her lightning eyes darted back to the man who had now attracted a larger crowd. Neal was momentarily regretting not slipping in with them instead.

He shifted as her eyes came back to his.

"He's my father," was her deadpan response. But Neal could sense amusement as her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly, and a twitch at her mouth. He raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Ah, I can see the resemblance, though you are much more interesting to look at," he simpered, smiling again.

"Come now, your words betray you mister—?" she questioned, her face softening. It looked like they would have an actual conversation after all, much to Neal's relief.

"Holden. And you are?" he asked, genuinely curious. A woman with such striking eyes should have a name for Neal to recall later.

"Your words betray you, Mr. Holden. My perceptions are not muddled by your good looks. I could see you looking at my father. You have some sort of business with him? I wonder why you would come to me then," she mused the last part aloud more to herself than posing it as a question. Neal cocked an eyebrow, and placed his now empty glass down, his hands coming to rest easily in his pockets.

"You are as observant as beautiful. I'm the assistant to Mr. Cutter. As you can see, he is a bit preoccupied, but, as his assistant, I have to see that things move along in this little exchange. I had hoped to ask Mr. Cutter where the room for the transaction is to take place so I could prepare it, but—. You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?" Neal ran through the rehearsed lines like water through hands. He had adjusted his posture while his words held her attention, and he now stood erect, attempting to embody the air of a busy assistant who was used to being in charge of operations as much as possible.

The woman tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes once again crawling back to where her father and Mr. Cutter continued in deep and animated conversation, with a series of older gentleman encompassing them to every so often give their opinion. Mr. Cutter's face would fall sometimes to aggravation, sometimes to desperation. His gestures were quick, jerky, worried.

Neal was a little more than nervous now. His ruse was starting to run a bit thin. Naturally, he had scoped out the guest list for this evening when he had made his way in. He knew every fence from Manhattan to Long Island. His plan was to _be _the fence. However, after hearing Mr. Lochlann address his chatty guest as "Mr. Cutter" Neal saw he had been beaten to that plan. Because before him now, as his gaze followed hers, was not, in fact, Mr. Cutter. The real Mr. Cutter was a lanky man much older than the one parading around and had a mustache and beard combo that was clearly missing from the clean shaven, tubby puppet.

Two con artists in the same room? Stranger things had happened.

Neal guessed that "Mr. Cutter" was having a hard time persuading Mr. Lochlann to leave the party and if Lochlann's daughter had the information instead, that would put Neal ahead of the race.

##############################################

"Wait, wait a minute," Peter suddenly cut in, making Addie's mouth snap up immediately. She couldn't help it, despite him being Neal's partner and the two were pretty good friends as well, she'd been ingrained with an apprehension of the law since she was young. So naturally she would do whatever the FBI agent asked of her.

"Yes?" Neal asked testily. Peter gave him a reprimanding, 'calm yourself' look and Neal's features softened.

"You had to have guessed that she knew where the exchange would take place. There's no way you could have known," Peter said, as always, trying to nitpick at Neal whenever he thought he could get a one up on the con artist turn consultant. Addie's hazel eyes lit up, just like Neal loved, and a smile spread across her lips. This seemed to draw everyone's attention to her so she hid it behind her hands and turned to Neal.

"I deduced," he began, giving Peter a 'mightier than thou' look, "that since the only people around Mr. Lochlann were the supposed fence and Addie, then Addie was most likely his right hand man. I've known more powerful men entrust that position to females," Neal explained. Peter's eyes narrowed, not buying it and Elizabeth smiled. Mozzie looked like he was going to say something, but a heated glance from Neal stopped him.

"It's okay Peter," Addie cut in, causing Neal to smile, "You're completely right, it was a guess." Neal's smile fell and he looked rather rattled.

"You never told me," he began, blue eyes wide. She smirked but replied,

"You never asked."

"Um, what?" Elizabeth interjected. Addie could not hide the triumph on her face.

"Neal guessed what my position was," she paused and turned to Peter, "and he guessed wrong."

"So you didn't know where the tradeoff was taking place?" Peter asked, trying to clarify. Neal looked like a puppy who couldn't figure out why his owner was leaving.

"Well…not exactly."

"What do I care," the woman muttered and, turning back to Neal's strong gaze, "Follow me Mr. Holden," she said with the first smile he'd seen all evening. He flashed her his pearly whites and followed as she headed out the nearest door. Neal spied "Mr. Cutter's" eyes on him as he turned to go. They were a cold grey and Neal didn't spare long dwelling on them. That would come after he had secured his prize. For now, Neal launched his plan into its second phase and that meant bringing in his ace up the sleeve.

* * *

**Hope the flashback narrative wasn't too hard to follow. The rest of the story is going to be like this, completely told in flashback between different present scenes. Let me know if you like it, don't like or have any other suggestions! :D**


	2. Fiery Distractions

**Yay an update! I'm super behind on everything (including watching Season 4 of White Collar!) so please accept my apology! If I have as much free time as I'm expecting this month, I will hopefully have some good progess on this if not finishing it. We'll see though. I learned a long time ago not make promises when it comes to my writing. **

**Thank you to everyone who supports this slow moving fanfic. I really appreciate you and your support keeps me going!**

**Please, enjoy :D**

* * *

"It's in here," the woman explained. She stood in front of a key pad and punched in the code before opening the door for Neal. He smiled at her as he stepped in. Even though his more 'male' charms had failed on her, that didn't mean he was going to be rude. He may be a conman, but he also considered himself a gentleman.

Neal blinked to adjust to the dimmer lighting. He gazed around what looked like one of the hotel's many conference rooms. The door slammed dramatically behind him. And if that slice of drama didn't clued him in enough, the look to kill and the woman's crossed arms certainly did.

"I take it that you aren't going to show me the painting then," Neal commented, hiding any trace of weakness.

"God, I really thought I was going to be bored to death at this party, but you, Mr. Holden, you provided me with some ample entertainment, I suppose. It's amusing enough that you are so full of yourself that after you couldn't charm your way into my heart and soul, you still completely trusted me on the basis that I am a woman and, therefore, easily manipulated by men like you," she said, the last bit scathing.

"I don't think that at all!" Neal countered.

"But you do think I'm an idiot, don't you? You are so obviously _not_ working for Mr. Cutter," she told him. She still stood by the double doors, that impenetrable gaze of hers making it impossible for Neal to get close to her. Neal gritted his teeth. This was just like a woman, playing into his pride to catch him off guard. The problem was, as always, that worked.

"I didn't say anything like that. Look, I just want to conduct my business and leave, is that so much to ask? I'm sorry for any 'assumptions' that you've made about me that concern you, miss, but you are the last thing on my mind right now," Neal said. The woman raised an eyebrow. "Okay, how to get past you _is _on my mind, but trust me, that's it," Neal corrected. His cerulean eyes darted about the room. If there was one person worse at playing by the rules (and of course he meant _his_ rules) it was time. And it continued to tick away, no foul, no timeouts, and especially no do-overs.

"I'm not finished yet," she replied, widening her stance by the door, hands on her hips. What Neal had originally found passively attractive was now demandingly irritating. The heels she wore were too high, the makeup too light, her eyes too piercing. Neal narrowed his eyes at her. "The man still in the main hall, the so called 'Mr. Cutter' isn't the real Mr. Cutter either. You're both con men, both trying to steal the painting. Granted you are the smarter of the two." Neal suppressed a smirk of smugness, still irritated. "But I still found you out. So, without further ado…" She smiled as the doors behind her suddenly flew open. Blue suited security guards strode in, one on each side of Neal. It was like he was living in some sort of detective drama. Too bad that made him the bad guy.

"Whoa, hey, easy there. I was just leaving, no need for the fancy escort," Neal said, heading for the door. He stopped suddenly beside the woman. "Unless you think I need it." That time he really did smirk. She grimaced and Neal felt triumph for breaking through her poise, for getting on her nerves. Of course, this little 'party' of three was putting pressure on Neal's backup plan that he had set into motion just moments before.

It had been a stretch to get him into the party. The fact that he grossly looked out of place among the tall, professional looking caterers was an obstacle to say the least. But, with all his many talents, Mozzie still managed to secure a position right near the seafood table. He had wanted to be near the bar, he could practically smell the delicious, expensive wine from here, but he took what he could get.

And as he had watched Neal exit the room with the woman, the _real_ Mr. Cutter entered, a mixture of nervousness and agitation as he approached the host. It didn't take long for the imposter to get a verbal lashing and a quiet chaperon out of the party before the real business began. That's when Mozzie made his move.

As luck would have it (which it often did when it came to cons and Neal in particular) the kitchen was out a side door next to the main doors at the back of the room that Neal had exited just minutes earlier and that Mr. Cutter and Mr. Lochlann were exiting now. Mozzie took off after, as casually as possible and took the door to the kitchen. He shuffled a few paces, not wanting to lose the two. Shoving the exit door rather hard, he winced, hoping that the two wouldn't notice. They were farther down the hall and deep in heated conversation. Mozzie followed at a safe distance.

He hid behind a marble pillar, watching as Mr. Lochlann unlocked a door and ushered Mr. Cutter inside. Mozzie ducked back as Mr. Lochlann made sure they were not followed before also heading in.

"Neal so owes me for this," Mozzie muttered. He was not usually the one doing the heavy lifting. He was more of the behind the scenes magic maker. But here he was, with Neal disposed with a lady (as usual) and Mozzie left with the short straw (also typical). Mozzie peered back the way he came. Any second now…

Sirens screeched with urgency, but not as urgent as the fifty some female screams that resounded out into the hall. Mozzie may have 'accidently' lit the flambé a little _too _much, having had chance to tamper with the food beforehand. On cue, the two men rushed out the door, Mr. Lochlann anxious to see to his guests and Mr. Cutter anxious to see to his prize. Mozzie frowned. He had hoped that both would be worried enough about their lives to get the hell out of the building. But apparently they did not share the same self-preservation philosophy that he had. One lit off in one direction, the other in the opposite.

"Stop that man, he has my painting!" came a sudden cry. Mozzie whirled to see his partner in crime. Neal was mock looking distressed as he pointed and yelled after Mr. Cutter. But Mozzie caught the gleam in his eyes and knew that the man was desperately trying to keep from smiling. Mozzie took the cue and ran after the guy as the security guards both hurried after as well, overtaking Mozzie and catching Mr. Cutter.

"Thank you, officers, I'm so grateful," Neal said, slightly out of breath.

"Can you prove this is yours?" one of the officers asked. Neal smirked then.

"That's the cloth I wrapped in this morning. My Monet was scheduled for a little trip down to the local art museum for some validation. It was supposed to go out this morning but—you just can't trust the help these days. I think I'll personally escort it this time," Neal poured out the charm, a mix of innocence and knowledge that had the officers taken over with believability. They gave Neal the painting and ushered all three outside as the alarm continued to sound.

The fire truck was already there. People perched on the curb, huddled together and muttering, some in their fancy dinner wear, other residents in their stripped pajamas. Neal and Mozzie headed around back as the security guards scurried off to check on the hotel's guests. There was just one more thing that Neal didn't count on—

#####################################

"You," Peter said excitedly. Addie nodded her head encouragingly.

"I would just like to point out that she was surprised at my presence as well," Mozzie butted in. Neal shook his head, his face all lit up. Not as lit up as a certain FBI agent's though. He had really gotten into the story.

"So you watched Neal run off with the painting," Peter continued. Elizabeth had gotten up to refill glasses like the amazing hostess she was. Addie nodded in agreement. "I guess you were pretty pissed."

"Eh, not exactly," Addie replied, once again astonishing the agent. "I didn't really care either way just so long as the feds didn't get their hands on it," she told them.

"You knew it was stolen? Why didn't you just report it?" Peter asked. There was a significant exhale to his left as he caught Neal's eyes rolling.

"Well, I must admit it really sucks living off your father when he's, well, _my_ father. And I would be lying if I said I had been totally innocent in the approbation of that painting…" Addie's voice trailed off. There was a very _proud_ look in Neal's eyes that Peter had never liked and especially found disturbing in this situation.

"How exactly were you involved?" Elizabeth asked as she brought a tray of fresh drinks out of the kitchen. She settled down next to her husband again as everyone took a collective gulp.

"Well, I guess that answer goes hand in hand to when I next saw Neal Caffrey again."

* * *

**Just a quick update with other writings. I'm that terrible person that writes more stories before she's finished the ones she started. I hate it, you hate it, it's a terrible habit. But it's not one I'm willing to try and break anytime soon. The habit I am trying to develop is at least finishing everything I start, so there. If you're a fan, look for Thor and Avengers writing coming soon! **

**~Rea**


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